


Compatibility

by OccasionallyCreative



Series: Universes [7]
Category: Pacific Rim (2013), Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: (Oh the subtext), Alternate Universe, Awesome Molly Hooper, BAMF Molly, Crossover, F/M, Flirting, One Shot, Sherlock Holmes Isn't Right About Everything, Stick Fighting, Subtext
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-12
Updated: 2013-10-12
Packaged: 2017-12-29 04:55:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1001138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OccasionallyCreative/pseuds/OccasionallyCreative
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes was one of the best pilots in the Jaeger programme, but after enduring major trauma, he quit. Years later, he’s drawn back into the programme, even though he staunchly believes that he’s incompatible with anyone. However, Sherlock Holmes isn’t always right about everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Compatibility

**Author's Note:**

> So after months and months of seeing various quotes, gifsets and essays about the film on Tumblr, I finally sat down and watched Pacific Rim. Verdict? I am an idiot for not seeing it sooner. My solution to this idiocy of mine? Write a Sherlolly Pacific Rim AU.
> 
> Because y'know. Reasons.

His latest shift had taken him to Dover, where the wall was said to be higher than those infamous White Cliffs. On his arrival, jumping from the back of a transport truck with a rucksack on his shoulder, he’d found that the rumours had been true. He’d barely been there for a full day before he was set to work, his station at the very top of the wall. It was not because he was the most skilled or the most acrobatic of workers that he’d been sent up there. He was simply one of few who wasn't afraid of the prospect of death.

That was how they found him. The ocean wind whipping around him, he paused in his work. The sound of approaching helicopters filled his ears. With a sigh, he stood, leaning against the scaffold. The helicopters whirred above him. He turned his head, watching as they landed in the work yard. Hundreds of feet below, the helicopters were nothing but specks. The foreman hurried towards the helicopters as armed guards climbed out. Sherlock straightened up as he saw who followed on behind them. His jaw tightened. Turning on his heel, he headed away from his station.

A lift allowed for workers to transport themselves to the top of the wall. Throwing his bag onto his shoulder, he called for the lift. The heavy metal doors opened with a clunk. Stepping inside, Sherlock looked through the small glass windows of the lift doors. Slowly, he watched the wall disappear from view.

The guards did not question him as he walked towards their charge. He was a short man, with greying blonde hair and arrogance in his smirk. Marshal John Watson was a legend among Jaeger pilots. He’d fought in the days of the Mark I Jaegers, and along with his partner Mary Morstan, the two had taken down some of the very first Kaijus. It was an injury to his shoulder that had stopped them from continuing into the days of the Mark II.

John offered him a shake of the hand. Sherlock turned away and walked back into the building. Saying nothing, John followed. Silence hung between them as Sherlock sat down on a low wall, dumping his bag at his feet.

“You want me to come back.”

John raised his eyebrows. “How’d you work that out?”

“Why else would you be here? You are waging a war, Marshal. I doubt you have time for social calls.”

“True.” John cleared his throat, shifting his weight. “Look – Sherlock – you know as well as anyone that the wall won’t work. Every week, the Kaijus are getting bigger. A mixture of stone and concrete isn’t good enough.”

“Your point?” Sherlock asked with a shrug.

“We’ve got eight months. Eight months until the world government shuts off our funding and pours all of it into that bloody wall.” Sherlock understood the cynicism. A concrete wall was never going to beat monsters from the deep. He’d known that from the moment the plans had been announced. “We need the best Jaeger pilots we can get.”

So they’d come to him. _Of course._ Sherlock chuckled. “You managed to make something out of the wreck I brought back I assume.”

“It wasn’t a wreck, Sherlock,” another voice said. Sherlock glanced up. Dressed in a similar uniform to John, she carried her hands behind her back and her face was warm but stern. Sherlock smiled. It had been a long time since he’d seen Mary. She nodded at him in greeting and stepped forward. “Everyone knows you did well to bring 221 back on your own. Lesser pilots would’ve died.”

“Irrelevant. I won’t allow anyone else inside my head.” He aimed a look at the two Marshals before him. “Or have you conveniently forgotten my reasons for leaving the Jaeger programme?”

Getting to his feet, he stormed past them.

“You once told me that the Drift was where you felt strongest,” John called.

Sherlock jerked to a halt.

“Opinions can change,” he said, turning back. John sighed heavily. Mary shook her head, placing her hand on his chest. John breathed, calm again.

“I’ll be honest here Sherlock. We’re at war. Not just against the kaiju. It's a war we can’t hope to win unless we have minds like yours on our side.”

Sherlock smirked, amused. He cocked an eyebrow. “Really?”

Mary returned his disbelief with a smile.

“Mm-hm. It’s simple. You either die here, Sherlock, or you can die in a Jaeger.”

For a long time, the three of them said nothing. Sherlock’s gaze flitted between Mary and John as he considered their words. They were right. There was nowhere he felt stronger than when he was in the Drift, his mind melded with another’s and their thoughts ebbing and flowing like waves. He looked to John.

“You know you have a challenge on your hands, don’t you? The pair of you. The only person who could ever connect with me before was my brother.” He looked to Mary. “I dare you to find someone better.”

It was Mary’s turn to smirk. “We’ve drawn up a list.”

* * *

The base was located at Hong Kong Bay, and after several hours of debriefing from both John and Mary during the flight, they arrived at the Jaeger station. Sherlock was the first to step out. The first sight he saw was a male and female pair standing by a transport truck. The female, black-haired, wore a wrinkled shirt with rolled up sleeves. Even from where he stood, her brightly coloured tattoos were clear. Kaijus. The man, pale and bearded, with greased hair, rolled his eyes as guards carried tanks from the truck. The tanks in question glowed yellow, kaiju parts floating among the liquid. Sherlock flipped up the collar of his jacket, walking forward.

John popped up beside Sherlock, an open umbrella in his hand.

“Dr Anderson and Dr Donovan,” he said, gesturing as they walked. “Two of the best scientists in the country.”

“Careful!” Donovan snapped at a random guard. She ran forward towards the almost dropped tank, which contained what Sherlock recognised to be a kaiju heart. She examined the tank, looking for the guard. “This kaiju was taken down in August 2013 – one of the very first! Do you know just _how_ important this artefact is? I was lucky to find it!”

Anderson sighed, turning to glare at John.

“Sir, why do I have to be saddled with this Kaiju groupie?!”

“Kaiju _groupie_?” Donovan whirled around to face Anderson. “I’m a scientist, as you are well aware – just because you’re more focused on your mathematic equations and conspiracy theories—”

Sherlock ignored the rest of the argument. John gave a short laugh.

“Anderson will never learn. Ready to meet the candidates?”

Sherlock shrugged as they entered into the hangar. “Better late than never.”

* * *

It was with a look of utter indignation that Sherlock stood in the middle of the station’s gymnasium, his arms crossed over his chest as he shook his head.

“No.”

The woman stood in front of him failed to suppress her disappointment.

“What’s wrong?” Stood behind him, Mary sounded indignant.

“She’s too small,” Sherlock said over his shoulder. “Too nervous. She’s a rookie at best.”

Mary walking forward, standing between them. “ _She_ is Molly Hooper, one of our best and brightest and the co-runner of the Mark II restoration project.”

“Doesn’t matter. She’s got little to no experience. Look at how nervous she is. An actual Jaeger pilot learns to quickly suppress that.”

As he spoke, Molly tightly looped a finger around her honey-brown curls. Sherlock narrowed his eyes. “Stop that.”

Her hand immediately dropped back to her waist. She stared at the floor, the very tips of her ears burning a bright pink. He turned back to Mary.

“Anyway, I thought you said you’d made up a list of candidates.” Sherlock held out his palm. “Let me see it.”

Eyeing him, Mary reached into her jacket to bring out a single piece of paper. She pressed it into Sherlock’s palm with a sigh. He unfolded it, scanning it. He let out a growl of frustration.

“This isn’t a list! This is a scrap of paper, and only _her_ name is on it!” he said, pointing an accusing finger at Molly, who quietly stepped back.

“ _Look_ ,” Mary snapped, impatient. “Her simulator scores are nigh on perfect. Her fighting techniques are eerily similar to your own, and she isn’t afraid to take a chance. On paper, she’s perfect for you.”

“On paper, yes. But people with perfect test scores often break down when faced with the real thing. I know; I’ve seen it. Plus, she’s small. Need I remind you that is about physical compatibility as well as mental?”

“Christ, this is going to take all day. Molly,” Mary said, turning to face her. “Show him.”

“What? Now? I can’t – it’s not…”

Mary settled her hands on Molly’s shoulders. “You can, and you will. Understand?”

“Understood, ma’am,” Molly said quietly, head bowed. Mary grinned and stepped to the side of the mats. She nodded once, a gesture for them to begin. Both of them wordlessly prepared themselves.

Molly removed her boots and picked up her fighting stick. It was with a degree of amusement that Sherlock saw that they did it at exactly the same time. He didn’t even need to look at Mary to know that she was smiling. Her smugness radiated. Sherlock kept his eyes on Molly as slowly he made his way to the centre of the gymnasium. He stopped right opposite his opponent. He was glaring, he knew that, but he didn’t care. The fight would be over soon and John and Mary would be back to scrabbling for possible candidates. Molly did nothing in response to his glares but instead smiled warmly as she scooped her long hair into a ponytail. He didn’t like it that way. The ponytail only served to harden her features.

“Remember, four strikes mark a win,” Mary said from her place at the side of the fighting space. Sherlock nodded, his gaze still fixed on his opponent.

“I would tell you this is about compatibility,” he said, tipping up his chin, “but you know that already.”

“And I would remind you that this is not a fight, but a dialect,” Molly retorted. “But you know that already.”

Sherlock smirked. So his opponent did have some spark in her after all.

“I won’t hold back,” he told her.

She shrugged. “That’s fine. Neither shall I, Mr Holmes.”

They both stepped back until they were standing at the very edge of the grid of mats. Molly glanced towards Mary. It was only when Mary directed an encouraging nod towards her that she moved, twirling and striking until she came to a stop. Her body was now in a perfect fighting stance. With a grin, Sherlock replied in kind. Skilfully he twirled the fighting stick between his fingers before setting into his own preferred stance. Molly stayed where she was, her overall expression blank. Her eyes, however, gave away what she was thinking. She scanned his body. Her mouth twitched with an approving smile.

She was distracted. Sherlock took the opportunity. He rapidly moved forward to bring the fighting stick down, stopping only when it was inches from the top of her head. His grin widened.

“1, 0.”

She moved so quickly, it was as if someone else had taken her place. Her arm swung round and she knocked his stick away from her, bringing her own against his face. Her stick hovered centimetres from him.

“1, 1.”

She was far better than he’d assumed. First impressions were always useless. With a methodical manner, she moved back to her beginning stance. Sherlock swung round, touching her on the hip.

“2, 1.”

He stepped back. Again her eyes scanned him. This time, her gaze wasn’t so approving. More appraising. Looking for the right angle.

He lunged forward in an attack move, but she swiftly parried him with a defence block. Before he even had a chance to reply, she was on him, using attack after attack. In swift succession, he blocked each one. It was when he tried to attack that she got him. Smacking his stick away, she touched his shoulder with her stick and smirked, giving a tilt of her head.

“2, 2.”

She moved back into a different fighting stance, ready for any attack move he may have decided to grace her with. He had to admit it to himself. He hadn’t felt such a rush fighting anyone since his previous time in the Jaeger programme.

That didn’t mean he was going to lose.

He launched a series of basic attacks, his movements more fluid and less controlled than his previous efforts. It was that damn ponytail.

All of a sudden, he was on the floor. He threw himself into a forward roll and jumped to his feet, turning back to his opponent. Her cheeks were flushed now from the effort of the fight, but she laughed, beckoning him forward. She was getting cocky.

It was that which allowed him a window. As she aimed an attack at his upper body, he hooked an arm around her chest and threw her over his shoulder. She landed on the ground with a loud thump and a groan. Any fighter with less skill would have been out, but as he’d seen, she wasn’t like many fighters. She sprang up to her feet, swinging into a new, more aggressive stance, with both her feet and arms widths apart and her gaze locked onto his.

There was a moment of quiet between them as they each considered one another. He broke, advancing forward with a parry. They launched into another to-and-fro of attacks and defences, of parries and thrusts. Any attempt at counting strikes had been lost as they ebbed and flowed together within the fight. Neither of them was thinking about techniques or strategies. Not anymore. If it was anything, it was responsive biology.

She aimed at a swinging attack at the base of his ankles; he swiftly deflected it, jumping into the air. In response, she rolled and gripped tightly at his thigh with her arm and tugged him downwards, landing him on his back. He groaned, winded from the fall as she stood on her knees, his leg still wrapped in her tight grip. They stared at one another for a moment, and she smiled. The move which had defeated him had caused the ponytail to come undone, leaving her hair to fall around her shoulders in a tangled set of curls.

“Well!” Mary said suddenly, clapping her hands. Sherlock shook his head slightly. In the midst of their fight, he’d forgotten the fact of her presence. As if there had been nothing but the Drift. Letting go of him Molly got to her feet and held out her hand towards Sherlock.

He took her hand and got to his feet, muttering “thank you”. She bowed her head and looked away from him. The ferocity which she had used to bring him down to earth had begun to fade, overwhelmed by the same shyness that had caused her to previously loop her fingers around her hair when nervous.

“What’s your stance now?”

Sherlock finally drew his gaze away from Molly and looked towards Mary. She was beaming.

Sherlock cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his head. “What was the score?”

“4 for 4.”

Molly tucked her hair behind her ear as he glanced at her once more. He thought back to the fight. The only time he had felt that filled with adrenaline and that connected to someone was when he had been inside the Drift.

“She’ll do,” he said finally with a small nod of his head. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Molly try to bite back a smile. She failed. He put back his fighting stick, gathered up his things and left the room.

Yes, she’d do just fine.


End file.
